A Battle You Can't Win
by bigger infinities
Summary: It's important, when in battle, to picture your enemies - and friends, for that matter - as faceless creatures. It's the only way to survive. Unfortunately, she just couldn't do that. T for violence.


_Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. I own the plot, is all._

_This is for Project PULL, which was created by m friend Bookaholic711. Visit her profile for more information, and please consider joining!_

**_Word count: _**_1,369 (I fixed some things)_

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Her head was pounding. Everything was muffled; she couldn't hear any of the orders Chiron or any of the other Camp counselors were shouting. All she could feel was the heat of the battle and the adrenaline rushing through her veins. Her sword felt connected to her body, as if her arm had grown and had sharpened to a point. She lashed out with it, aiming for someone's exposed skin. She felt the vibrations all through her body as the steel of her sword connected with flesh.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark shape hurtling toward her, and she unsheathed her celestial bronze sword. Once the Titans realized just how easy it was to manipulate humans, they took that advantage and used it to its fullest. Every Camper was now required to carry one celestial bronze sword and one steel sword, so they would always be ready to fight anyone and anything.

No one had been ready for this fight, though. They had broken through the wards without so much as a warning, and had flooded the Camp in the middle of the night. So many were dead and wounded already because of the upper hand they had gained. She'd nearly tripped over several bodies before.

She rolled and quickly stabbed the Hellhound that had been charging at her. She didn't pause to watch it hit the ground. She could hear screaming and took off as fast as she could, both swords in her hands. She was getting close to the wailing when something barreled into her from the side. She immediately swung both of her swords in an effort to surprise her attacker. Both swords connected with nothing and she hit the ground with a dull thud, her head hitting the ground just a little too hard. Her vision swam for a moment, and on instinct, she rolled to the right.

Something impacted the ground where she'd just been and she quickly scrambled to her feet. The screaming continued, and she wondered what could be happening for someone to be screaming so loudly and for such a long time. Deciding that it would be better if she helped that person first, she slipped away from her attacker without even seeing their face.

She fought her way through the mass of fighting people, not even sure why she was doing it. That scream sounded familiar, in a way. She felt compelled to follow it, to help the person who was obviously suffering so much.

There was so much blood on the ground that it was starting to cake on the bottom of her shoes, which made it difficult to walk, but she trudged forward, swinging and slashing with her swords. There had been over five hundred Campers crammed into the barriers of Camp Half-Blood, but she wondered how many would be left after this massacre.

The smell of blood had already been invading her senses since she'd been forced out of bed (never before had she been so grateful that she slept with her swords.), but now the smell took on an overpowering property. She felt like she was choking on it, like it was being poured down her throat. She cut clean through a mortal's neck, effectively severing his head from his body, and it was only when he crumbled did she see the horror that lay beyond.

A small girl of only seven – one of their youngest Campers by far – was on the ground, a pool of blood slowly forming around her. That wasn't the worst part, of course. There was an axe imbedded in the ground, and she could now see the lonely piece of her arm that had been cut off.

Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed. Her eyes burned with rage. That girl did not deserve this. She did not deserve to have this happen to her at such a young age. No one deserved to lose their life at an age so young. The seven year old – Lyra, her name was – was cowering beneath a glowing figure. She knew exactly what that meant; he was a Titan. But she didn't give a damn. That was the beauty of blind rage. You understood nothing but your rage and the source of your rage; it filled you up and exploded in a flurry of passion and anger and burned anyone who dared get in your path.

She ran full force towards the Titan, her swords raised and at the ready. He seemed to be preoccupied, and she got a nice blow in before he turned to face her. His face would have been terrifying in any other situation, but all she saw was a golden blur. She felt so disconnected from her body then, as if she'd retreated the very recesses of her mind and her body had switched to auto-pilot.

She felt none of the blows that were dealt to her, barely even cared that her own blood was starting pool on the ground, mixing with Lyra's. She just had to finish off the Titan. She had to avenge the little girl who was lying in the grass, so still, almost completely covered by the blood that had gushed out of the stump that was once her arm.

The Titan finally discarded of her weapon, catching it between his hands as she had tried to bring it down on to his head. He yanked it out of her hands and it immediately incinerated. Still driven by her blind rage, she tried to strike out at him with her bare hands, which was an absolute mistake. The Titan easily caught her wrists, holding them with one hand. With a cruel grin, her wrapped his other hand around her slim throat and began to choke the life out of her.

At first, she struggled. She lashed out at him, but he just kept smiling as she got weaker and weaker, the life slowly draining out of her. Her head was pounding, and all of her limbs felt like they were made of ice. She opened her mouth, desperately trying to suck in some kind of air, but the Titan kept a firm grip around her throat and nothing got into her lungs. Black spots danced in front of her eyes and the pain in her head got even worse.

In a last ditch attempt, she tried to pry his hands off of her throat, but her numb fingers did nothing. Finally, all of the fight drained out of her and she let herself go limp in his grip. He let go of her wrists when he noticed the change in her and stepped closer, looking her straight in the eyes. Even in her foggy state, she noted that his eyes were like a molten gold. They burned and swirled with power which probably would have struck fear into her heart, had she not been dying from lack of oxygen.

"This battle is over, little girl," he whispered, and the barest edge of consciousness that she had clung to slipped away.

Her dead, lifeless body hit the ground with a thud, landing next to the body of the little girl, and they slowly decayed together as the battle raged on.

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_[A/N]: I am a sick, twisted person, I know. I really have no clue as to why I have written this. Many thanks to Rachel and Bookie, who beata'ed it for me. Thank you for reading through my disturbing piece of work. I love you both. :D_

_Please review and tell me what you thought!_

~Icelyn


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